


The Obituary

by magicalmilkdud



Category: Pulp Fiction (1994), Reservoir Dogs (1992), Tarantinoverse (movies)
Genre: Ableist Language, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Vincent, Drugs, Homophobic Language, Sexist Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10037219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalmilkdud/pseuds/magicalmilkdud
Summary: When Vincent Vega reads his brother's obituary in the news, he is more relieved than heartbroken.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Any slurs used in this story are for the sake of keeping the dialogue in character and do not necessarily reflect my personal views.

Vincent felt his nostrils burn as he snorted his buddy's cocaine. He leaned back on the couch and let out a mixture of a sigh and a groan. He looked over at Jules, who almost appeared to be sleeping while smoking his weed. The two of them had come to Lance's place to get high after taking out some teens who has gotten cocky enough to think they could cheat Marsellus Wallace and get away scot-free. Jules hadn’t had time to finish his recital of Ezekiel; one of the kids pulled a gun on them mid-monologue. Now that was rude, and Vincent's partner had dealt accordingly. 

“Fuck,” Jules muttered. “This is some good- hack- good fuckin shit right here.”

Vincent rubbed his hands on his face to try and regain his senses. “Yeah, man. What'd I tell you? Lance- cough- Lance's got connections. Don't ask me where the fucker gets this stuff, he don't tell anyone 'cept his missus. But whoever gives him this, this shit right here… that guy knows his fuckin drugs.”

Jules’ face lit up. He sat up and grabbed a newspaper off the table. “By the way… I saw something in here you might wanna look at.” He tossed Vincent the paper. “Some guy you might know bit the dust. Cops popped a cap in the fucker's ass.”

Vincent gave Jules a disinterested look. “Cops pop caps in fuckers’ assess every day. What makes this one so noteworthy?”

“He's got your name.”

That got his attention. He groaned as he sat up to grab the newspaper. Flipping to the obituaries, he gave the page a skim until his eyes rested on an all-too familiar name: Victor Vega. 

“Well, shit,” Vincent chucked. “My idiot motherfucker of a brother got himself done in.”

Jules let out a marijuana-induced giggle. “So Vincent Vega has a kid brother. The bitch who don't ever talk about his past just let out a secret.”

Vincent rolled his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Naw, man, I'm hooked. What's this bitch like that you never mention him in the year we've been partners?”

Vincent stood slowly. He crushed the newspaper in his fist and scratched the back of his head. “There's not much to him. He's got two moods: merciful and murderous. Most of the time he was a grade-A Hitchcock psychopath.”

Vincent observed a curious expression on Jules’ face. He continued, “That fucker liked to… well, he liked to hurt people. And when he couldn't hurt people, he hurt animals. But usually he would just--” He faltered.

Jules leaned forward. He gazed at his partner sternly. “Look. The cunt is dead. Whatever shit he did to you, he can't do no more. Because his ass is in hell.”

Vincent’s grip on the newspaper loosened. He sat back down in his chair. “You're right. That faggot got what he had coming.”

Jules cocked his head. “Now that's a word I wasn't expecting to hear from you.”

“What?”

“I mean, you're one of them, aren't you? Seems a bit convoluted for you to use a word like that.”

Vincent chuckled. “And you've never dropped an n-bomb in your life. I can say whatever the fuck I want.”

“True, true.”

“Besides, I'm not a fag like Vic. I'm bi. There's a difference.”

“Really,” Jules inquired. “And what would that difference be?”

Vincent straightened himself. “Gay men like men. Gay women like women. Bisexuals, like me, will fuck either.”

Jules questioned, “and what about- god, what was it called- what about pansexual? Who are they fucking?”

“Well, this is where it gets a bit more complicated. You remember how in grade school they teach you that there's boys and girls and that's it? In reality, that's a load of bullshit. See, gender is actually a spectrum with people identifying all over the place. And pansexuals, well, they like it all. They don't give a shit what you are.”

“So you're telling me that boys and girls aren't actually the only kids out there, and that there's a gender spectrum that all depends on how you identify?”

“Precisely.”

Jules began to laugh. “Man, you must be really fuckin stoned.”

“No, I'm serious here,” Vincent argued. “There's like, 50 fuckin genders out there, at least. It's crazy. But it's also real.”

“Alright man, alright,” Jules defended. “Tell me then, what about asexuals, what are they into?”

“Well, asexuals are a bit complex. Really depends on the person. Some of them don't care for sex, some of them think it's fuckin disgusting. Some of them like sex but don't actually look for it, like they'll take an opportunity if they get it, but it's not a priority. Basically, asexuals don't like sex as much as you and I.”

“Man, why don't they teach you this shit in school?”

“Because we're ‘indecent’. Or ‘too political’. It's a load of bull, but heteros love to have people be exactly like them. And if people aren't, well that's when things get ugly.”

All of a sudden a thin, a thin, gangly man walked into the room. “Hey, Lance,” Jules greeted. “You're back.”

“Fuck yeah I'm back,” Lance replied. He slammed his house key on the TV. “And it took too fuckin long. I just had to deal to the most dipshit teens I've ever met. Jesus Christ, I thought they'd never shut the fuck up.” He plopped down on the couch next to Jules. “So what have you two been up to?”

“Vince here was just educating me on the topic of sexuality,” answered Jules.

“Oh, really,” Lance grinned. “You one of them faggots, Vince?”

Vincent gave his dealer the finger. “No, as a matter of fact I’m not,” he lied. “But I know a thing or two about the topic.”

“Alright, man.” Lance stared at Vincent. “Educate me.”

Vincent began, “Well, I’m sure you know that straight men like girls and gay men like boys. Bisexuals like both. Pansexuals, they like everyone. And asexuals, well, they’re a bit-”

“Hold on, hold on, don’t just lay the whole fuckin thing on me at once,” Lance interrupted. “My heterosexual brain can’t comprehend all this shit.”

Vincent held up both middle fingers now. “Alright, fucker, let me put it in words you can understand: straight people, well, they like vanilla ice cream. Gay people prefer chocolate. Bisexuals like vanilla and chocolate. Pansexuals, they don’t give a fuck what flavor they get, if it’s ice cream they’ll eat it. Asexuals would rather have a good slice of pizza. And demisexuals, those guys don’t know if they like ice cream until they’ve had a fuck ton of it.”

Jules and Lance stared at him. “Still confused,” said Lance. “But you're making a bit more sense now.”

“Glad to enlighten you,” Vincent joked. “Now tell me, you got any of the good shit? I mean the really fuckin good shit you don’t like to sell people?”

Lance beamed. “You bet I got the good shit.”

The three of them spent the next hour watching TV and getting higher than Mount Everest together.


End file.
